


Not In Rivers, But In Drops

by ClementineStarling



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Delusions, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Humiliation, M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, PWP, Post-Episode: s07e01 The Day Will Come When You Won't Be, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 07:25:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8480797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineStarling/pseuds/ClementineStarling
Summary: Something in Rick's mind must have snapped.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [viceindustrious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceindustrious/gifts).



> Okay, I just wanted to see Rick suffer a bit more. 
> 
> Title taken from [the eponymous song by ISIS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX_J2mJjQS4).

Black leather and gleaming teeth and the rust-smell of blood, that's what Rick's world is made of now. There's nothing else. Gloved fingers press down on his throat, sleek and merciless, and in his chest panic flutters like a bird with broken wings. He struggles weakly, half-heartedly. It's not as if he didn't know he has lost but he just can't help the animal reflex.

“Who do you belong to?” Negan's voice is a purr, and Rick knows he has to give in, he's got no choice. His head is spinning. He wiggles feebly under Negan's weight but it's no use, Negan's got his knee on Rick's chest, his hand around his throat. There is nothing Rick can do to escape him.

“You,” he whispers and: “Please.” 

“What did you say? I didn't quite catch that.”

Rick clears his throat. He can feel people watching, their eyes heavy on his skin. “You,” he repeats. “I belong to you.” A strange shudder runs through him when he says the words. Like he actually means it. Like he _wants_ to mean it. Just give up, surrender. Be dragged around by the neck like a dog. Do what he's told. He is so tired of worrying.

“Good boy,” Negan says and ruffles through the sweat-drenched curls plastered to Rick's head. “See, I knew you could do it.”

Negan takes his knee off him, and a sob wrenches itself from Rick's chest. He's not even ashamed of it. He just feels relieved. The worst must be over now that Negan's hand is only a heavy, reassuring weight on his head. 

Rick lets himself be pulled to his knees, he feels boneless. If Negan wasn't so strong he would simply keel over, but he's got him by the neck in a grip of iron, holding him upright. Rick can't see much, everything is blurred. There must be people around, he can sense them, but all that registers is the smoke-grey of Negan's jeans. 

Rick sways. There is a weight in his belly – fear, foreboding, the pull of gravity. Negan has made himself the sun of this universe and Rick is too weak to fight its attraction. He falls forwards into the magnetic field, and Negan lets him, allows him to lean into his thigh and be safe for a moment. And Rick stills.

For the first time in ages everything is quiet. He is breathing. It's all that counts. There is nothing but smoke and blood and darkness. The denim is warm against his cheek; he smells leather and beneath it the faint musk of genitals. 

He should be appalled but somehow he isn't. Not even when Negan tightens his grip and pulls him closer so his face ends up pressed into Negan's crotch. “Come on, sniff me, little bitch,” he says. “I know you want to. Why fight your nature?” 

Even if Rick were inclined to deny it, his body betrays him, the tug of arousal sharp as barbed wire in his belly. He's half-hard in a matter of seconds and he does as he's told, nuzzles against the crotch in front of him. He can feel Negan's cock through the fabric, hot and long and thick. He's aroused, just like Rick is aroused, and somehow Rick is elated by the fact. He must have been really good if Negan's so pleased. And he wants to be even better, please him more, he doesn't remember why but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Maybe he's gone mad because he can't help but press his lips against Negan's erection in an oath of fealty.  
  
  


Rick wakes with a start into the pale light of dawn. His T-shirt is drenched, sticking to his skin with cold sweat. And he's actually hard, his cock stiff and heavy against his belly, and Negan's smell is still clinging to his nose. His stomach is roiling.

Rick sits up, leans over over the edge of the bed and retches but it's only dry heaves. There is nothing in his stomach, he's been puking his soul out pretty much the whole previous day. Yet here he is, having sex dreams about the man who murdered Abraham and Glenn and threatened to have him cut Carl's arm off. Rick couldn't be more disgusted with himself. 

Though despite the nausea his erection isn't abating.

He hesitates for a moment, then pushes his boxers down to wrap his hand around his cock. It's leaking with precum. Rick squeezes tighter than he normally would. A lot tighter. It's more painful than pleasant but his cock is stubborn. It just twitches with excitement and somewhere in his head Negan says: “Don't pretend you don't like it, Rick. Doesn't it feel _real_ good when it hurts a little?”

Rick can see his wide, wolfish smile before his mind's eye and his lids flutter shut as if that somehow would block the memory out, but of course Negan's still with him in the darkness behind closed eyes. He's with him every damn tug and pull, no matter how angry, how punishing Rick makes his strokes. Perhaps it would have been easier if Negan _had_ hurt him, he thinks. 

Rick can handle pain. Pain is real, it keeps you grounded. Focussed. He reaches down with his left hand to cup his balls. For a moment he allows himself to enjoy the sensation – how good it feels to touch himself like that – before he tightens his grip. It hurts like hell, so bad it makes tears well up in his eyes but his erection won't flag.

“Didn't I say you're a slut for pain?” Negan says in Rick's head. “Just look at yourself, you filthy little bitch.” 

Tears run hot and wet over Rick's cheeks but he doesn't stop working himself, his fingers cruel around his cock and balls, too dry and too harsh and too much, and Rick only wishes he had more hands to hurt himself better. He tries pinching his nipples, hard, then scratching long lines over his chest and thighs until he draws blood. It achieves nothing. On the contrary. His cock is throbbing.

If only there was someone he could ask for help, he would beg them to bend him over and fuck him senseless, tear him open and leave him as bruised and broken and sore as he feels. But Daryl's the only one who would understand and they took him away. Negan took him away.

Rick sobs, eyes still squeezed shut. 

“So that's what you would have preferred? If I'd bend you over and fucked you in front of your people like the bitch you are?” imaginary Negan says while Rick's hand flies over the length of his cock, up and down and up again, furious. He's so wet by now it hardly hurts anymore but his brain promptly comes up with extra torment to make up for it. 

He imagines Negan's hand in the small of his back, bending him over. Then the sudden rush of cold air as his pants are yanked down. 

He rubs his fingers over the head of his cock, gathering more precum while he pictures how Negan's fingers would spread him open, pulling his ass cheeks apart. 

It's so easy to slip back into the dream. 

A leather-clad thumb brushes over the tender crinkled skin of his anus. 

“Fuck, Rick, look at that tight little hole,” Negan says before leaning over him. “I almost looks like you've never been fucked before. You're not a damn virgin, are you?” 

The sheer bulk of him against his back, all the tightly wound fury takes Rick's breath away. He feels so small and helpless. And he waits, paralysed, his eyes closed, clenching his teeth.

Negan straightens behind him. “Answer me when I ask you a question,” he says. 

Rick's so damn hard, it's difficult to concentrate on what he wants to give away. To lie or admit the truth, that is the question.  
“No,” he says, and repeats just for good measure. “No, sir.”

“That's my boy,” Negan says with treacherous satisfaction in his voice and gives Rick an absentminded slap on the hip. The feel of the leather is strange and strangely exciting on his naked skin, and Rick wished he'd hit him harder. For some long, long seconds Rick hears nothing but the blood pulsing in his ears, then finally the chinking of a belt-buckle being opened, unnaturally loud in the silence.

Negan allows him little time for preparation – after all Rick isn't a virgin, is he? – and soon shoves his cock inside him (thick and hard like any random implement at hand) and it _burns_. Rick gasps, the stretch and pressure too much and just right, just what he needs. He needs to be punished. He needs to pay for his negligence and his failure. He should have saved Abraham and Glenn, should have protected his own, but he was too weak.

He groans when Negan thrusts into him, the denim of his pants rough against Rick's thighs as he closes the last distance between them, snaps his hips to push deeper. The devil is inside him now, demanding his tribute in blood and tears.

Rick hurts so much, but it's good that he hurts, it'll take some of the other pain away, the guilt, the loss, the deep dark hole inside him. Surely if he has bruises to show for his suffering, marks to prove his torment, he'll be forgiven, he _must_ be forgiven.

“You were fucking made for this, Rick,” Negan says, accentuating every word with a brutal thrust. “Should have kept you as a toy.” His fingers are digging into Rick's hips, and Rick just wants more. He concentrates on the burn; he imagines Negan must have drawn blood by now, at least a couple of drops to pay for his debt. 

Rick feels raw, he is aching with all flavours of pain, grief and shame and soreness. He is biting his lips bloody during the last few strokes that will take him to his climax; he's wound up so tight he thinks he might break apart, crumble under the strain of it all.

Orgasm hits him like a bat to the head. For a moment Rick is floating in numbness. He feels nothing. He sees nothing. His hand is curled around his cock, he registers the wetness of his come on his fingers, the long strands of it across his belly, but there is no pain and there is no pleasure. 

Then everything comes back, crashing down on him with double intensity, and all Rick can do is roll on his side, drag the blanket over him and curl up in a fetal position, heedless the stickiness of sweat and semen, before he starts crying for real in uncontrollable sobs of despair. This must be it, game over.

Somewhere in Rick's head Negan is playfully swinging his bat. “You're mine, bitch,” he says and bares his teeth in a wide smile.


End file.
